


Ancient History

by missbecky



Series: Ancient History [1]
Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 16:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve finds a photograph of Tony pre-arc reactor. Tony does not appreciate this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ancient History

The TV is turned on but Steve isn't sure what program this is, or even what channel. Tony finally succumbed to sleep about ten minutes ago; he's curled up on the far end of the couch, one socked foot dangling off the cushion. Steve himself is barely awake, watching blearily as the narrator of the TV program cheerfully announces that the next most awesome international party hotspot on their list is Ibiza. It's 4 a.m. and he hasn't slept in two days for the nightmares – but he's about to surrender to the inevitable. He's thinking – hoping – that maybe it won't be so bad, burrowed deep in the armchair, all the lights off, Tony's even breathing lulling him into sleep.

Right before he drops off, though, the woman on the TV says, "Tony Stark" and suddenly Steve is awake and alert, staring at the screen.

He almost misses it anyway. The photograph remains on the screen for only a few seconds before the next image appears, another celebrity who came to Ibiza to party and was captured by the paparazzi acting like a fool.

But he did see it. And now he can't unsee it.

He looks over at the couch. Tony is still asleep. He wandered in around three o'clock, muttering about closed circuits and other things Steve didn't even pretend to understand. He stood there for a long time, then just collapsed onto the couch like a puppet whose strings had been cut, all loose limbs and lolling head. He didn't say a word to Steve, and acknowledged him with only a single look.

This isn't the first night they've found each other out here at this ungodly hour, driven by demons too intimate to mention by name. Tonight, as they always do, they stared mutely at the TV. They did not speak.

Tony seems to be sleeping soundly – although Steve knows from experience that it will not last for long. Still, he judges that it's safe to get up. He picks up the tablet that Tony set down on the coffee table when he first wandered in. Just to be sure, he moves over to the chair by the window, as far away from the couch as he can get.

He taps the tablet. The image that springs up confounds him at first, then he recognizes it as one of Iron Man's repulsors. He touches the screen and whooshes his hand to the right, imitating a move he's seen Tony make a hundred times. The image of the repulsor is replaced by a schematic for something that looks like a blender, probably isn't, but then again could be. He whooshes that one aside, and the next three images, and then he's finally at the main screen.

The only problem is, he doesn't know which of the icons here is for the Internet. On his computer everything is helpfully labeled – in bright primary colors, which makes him feel like he's five years old and annoys him, to be honest, but at least he can navigate that computer. Not this one. He glances over at Tony, then whispers, "JARVIS?"

"Yes, Captain Rogers?" As always, the AI sounds quietly respectful when talking to him. He doesn't talk that way to everyone, though, and Steve wonders about that sometimes, if JARVIS can choose his tone with people, or if he has to remain within the parameters Tony programmed him with. And if it's the latter, he can't help but wonder why JARVIS speaks to him with more respect than Tony ever does.

"I need to find something," he says.

"I would be happy to assist you," JARVIS says. "What are you searching for?"

"Pictures of Tony in Ibiza," he says. His cheeks burn. He feels like a voyeur, and he hasn't even seen anything yet.

JARVIS doesn't respond in words, but the tablet's screen is suddenly filled with pictures, each one overlapping the other like genuine pieces of paper laid out on a table, the corners exposed so he can choose each one just by touching it. Not that he needs to. The one he wants is right on top.

It's the same picture the TV program showed. Judging by the light, it was taken in late afternoon. The backdrop is a beautiful beach, aquamarine waves crashing onto the sand. Tony is standing on the shaded deck of what is probably a very lively bar after the sun goes down. He has his arms around two beautiful women, a colorful, tropical drink in each hand. He's wearing dark green swim trunks, sunglasses, and a killer smile. His chest is bare and smooth.

Fascinated, Steve just stares at the photograph. This is a Tony Stark he never knew, will never know.

He taps the picture, and the image enlarges to fill the entire screen. He can make out more details now, but those don't interest him. What he cares about is the one thing missing from the photograph.

He tries to imagine how the picture would look if it were taken today. The beach and the bar would be the same, of course. Tony would still be surrounded by beautiful women – Steve has never met anyone who has such an effortless ability to flirt with and charm women; not even Bucky came close. But that's where the similarities end. Today, he's pretty sure those beautiful women wouldn't be draped all over Tony with the same mixture of sexuality and possessive ease. One of them would probably be caught with her gaze to the side, clearly uncomfortable in the presence of something she didn't understand. And Tony himself, while probably still wearing that killer smile, would almost certainly not be standing there bare-chested.

He reaches up, touches the picture on the screen. Lightly he strokes his fingertips down the smooth skin of Tony's chest. He doesn't know how to make the image three-dimensional, and in truth he doesn't want to. He just wants to touch. Just this once. Just to say he did.

It's not a noise, exactly, that warns him. It's more like a sudden drop in barometric pressure, a herald of the storm to come. He jerks his hand back like he's been burned and he turns around, and sure enough, there is Tony, standing in the middle of the room and staring at him.

"Um," Steve says.

Tony looks at the screen. He doesn't say anything. His expression doesn't change, but the line of his jaw tightens imperceptibly. It's a little thing, barely there unless you know to look for it – but Steve has always been a quick study.

"Well, there's a blast from the past," Tony finally says, his voice perfectly light and calm. "Where'd you dig that up?" And in the same breath, he mutters, "JARVIS you traitor."

"There was something on TV," Steve says. "I was half-asleep, and I missed most of it. But they mentioned your name."

Tony glances at the TV, which is now showing the most awesome party hotspots in Rio de Janeiro. He grunts once in acknowledgement, then he walks up to where Steve is sitting and whisks the offending image off the screen. As his hand falls away, he starts to reach up toward his chest, then he lowers his arm with an abrupt snap. "Usually ancient history is enough to put me to sleep but I think I'm awake enough now I'm just gonna grab some coffee then head down to the lab." He's doing that thing where he's speaking without commas, and Steve knows what that means, and he kicks himself for doing this here where Tony could – _did_ – wake up and see.

"I'm sorry for waking you," Steve says. "I didn't mean to."

Tony waves him off. "No worries." He's already backing away.

Steve flounders for words. He knows he should say something now. Apologize again maybe, only this time for his actual crime. But he knows that isn't right. He isn't quite sure what _is_ right, though. He can't claim to know Tony very well, and a few nights of shared insomnia in front of the TV do not a friendship make – but he does realize that another apology is actually the worst thing he could say.

So he takes a deep breath and he blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. "You're right. It is ancient history. And I don't think I would have wanted to know that man. I wouldn't have wanted to be his friend, or fight alongside him. And I don't think he would have had any patience with me, either."

"Oh God, stop," Tony groans. "I am definitely not in any shape for the four a.m. pep talk. You know, I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me."

There's probably a reference in there somewhere that Steve doesn't get. It doesn't matter. "It's not a pep talk," he says, although yeah, it kind of is. "The point is—"

"The point is," Tony says, "you saw something new and you thought you'd get your jollies by—"

"No!" Steve exclaims as he bolts to his feet. "Tony, no." And there's no reason to dance around this any longer. Because if he can't say this at 4:00 in the morning when it's just the two of them, he's never going to say it. "I know what you're thinking, and you're wrong. It's beautiful."

Apparently this is not what Tony was expecting, because he blinks in surprise. "What?"

"The arc reactor. You shouldn't be ashamed of it. It's beautiful," Steve says.

Tony makes a face, his mouth turning down. "Well, this conversation has officially bottomed out. I need coffee." He turns to go.

"It's beautiful," Steve repeats, and Tony halts in his tracks, his back to Steve. "Because it keeps you alive, and that means you're here with me, and that makes it beautiful."

Slowly Tony turns around. "Are you…" He shakes his head. "Who _are_ you? Do you even hear yourself? Nobody talks like that. Except for you. You're really standing here, saying these words."

Steve sets the tablet down on the chair he just vacated. He's not sure if he's angry or embarrassed or what is going on, but tiny prickles of heat are dancing all over his skin, setting off little fireworks behind his eyes. "Maybe," he says, dimly amazed by how calm he sounds, "you need more people to talk to you this way."

"I think I need one less," Tony snaps.

"All right," Steve says, and suddenly it's all about that picture again, and his damning touch on the screen. "Yes, I was curious. Yes, I wanted to see. But that doesn't mean I would want to change anything."

"Well then, that makes you a minority of one," Tony says flatly. He turns around to go, and this time it's clear that he's not going to stop.

Steve has to try anyway. "Would you really?" he asks. "If you could?"

To his surprise, Tony does check his stride. His head lowers, his shoulders hunch. Then he's moving again, walking swiftly out of the room. 

But he didn't have an answer, and that's good enough for Steve.

Sudden weariness drops over him. He really is tired. He should go to bed, try and get some sleep while he still can.

Tonight he'll be right back here again. Sweating, hands trembling, eyes snowblind, a name on his lips that he dare not call aloud. After he's been here for a couple hours, Tony will wander in. Later than usual, no doubt, a not-so-subtle way to remind him that he overstepped himself tonight and that he better not try it again. But he'll show. Steve is certain of it. They'll sit here in silence, staring blankly at the television, letting the mindless sounds soothe their jangled nerves and coax them into believing all over again that things aren't really as bad as they seem, that everything will be all right, that life is grand and tomorrow is another day.

Of course they'll be here. After all, they have nowhere else to go.

*******


End file.
